LIKE FLOWERS IN SAND 𓇼 ˚｡⋆ WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER
he speaks to her like it's something inevitable. like he had to come up to her then and there, as if there weren't any other person in the room he could've spoken to.
when she looks around, she realizes there isn't anyone else in the room. just her. just him.
he interrupts her halfway through her poomsae routine, two ice cold water bottles in his hands and a barely-visible sheen of sweat coating his forehead. there's a look on his face she can't quite read — not that she wants to, anyways — while he walks onto the mat. she tries not to react at the little droplets of condensation falling onto the foam or the way he haphazardly chucks his shoes off before stepping forward. but it proves difficult when she finds him standing just three feet away from her in her peripheral.
hesitantly (not timidly), she straightens up from her stance, her arms falling limp at her sides and her knees creaking as they fall back into place. kento stretches his hand, dripping as a consequence of the bottle in his grasp, out to her all too naturally. a part of her pride urges her to turn it down. but the burn in her throat and the perspiration collecting all across her skin weigh too heavy on her, and instead, she finds herself chugging the water in silence.
there's a heavy exhale, then a pause. she wipes the excess that falls from the corner of her lips. "why are you still here?"
his lips twitch upwards for an instant, almost too miniscule to be noticed. "waiting for my ride."
"there's a bus stop outside. you could've waited there." her back is already towards him, and yet, she can feel the heavy footfalls trailing behind as she makes her way towards her gear bag under the guise of leaving soon. already, she's envisioning it — his ride will arrive within the next 5 minutes, she'll see him off, and be back to training as soon as he's far enough to not see the lights in the studio.
but deep down, she knows that's far from how it'll go. because nanami kento, for all his rule-following, has never once fit within her expectations. in fact, he's always, without fail, exceeded them. and he proves that much then and there.
"it's past midnight. there are no buses," he says with a lilt halfway between teasing and genuinely concerned. she looks up towards the clock (the old digital one that their coach put up years ago that's barely visible when the lights are one) with a squint just to find that he's right.
she doesn't respond, instead opting to shove his pity-induced water bottle into the side pocket of her bag and hoping, praying to whoever will listen, that he'll leave soon. but again, he defies every hope and expectation and pre-destined scenario she has laid out.
"why are you here so late?" he asks. it's one she remembers him asking years ago, back in elementary, when she snuck out to train just a little extra late at night. vaguely, she recalls that day — she had the qualifiers the next day (or rather, the same day, given that it was also past midnight), and with all the stubbornness and ego her younger body could muster, she swore to kento that she'd come out first.
she didn't know that everyone qualified, because it was such a small batch. and of course, kento knew — he just never said anything. for her sake, of course.
("you're so, so mean! and stupid! and you smell bad!" she yelled while stomping back home. he followed behind, her gear bag slung lazily across his shoulder and a bottle of water fresh from the vending machine in his hand.
kento only smiled, youthful and giddy. the stars hung over them and the breeze from the seaside ghosted along their skin. she muttered something, another complaint about him not telling her beforehand.
"stop following me!" then came the tears, white-hot and angry, down chubby cheeks. on instinct, he was there. as always.)
he doesn't fail to catch the way she heaves out another heavy breath. "i could ask you the exact same thing."
"i told you already. i'm waiting for my ride."
she almost wants to laugh at the way he says it so matter-of-factly. as if it were such an obvious explanation for his presence.
slowly, she makes her rounds. the storage closet is shut. her gear bag is thrown into her locker. the office is locked. and finally, the lights dim, flickering to a close overhead. kento watches from his spot on the mat, perfect posture and stoic face and all else that makes up his very character.
the dark envelops them as the final bulb powers off. it's solemn, almost, the way he waits for her to return to him. her feet guide her back beside him, naturally, and all she can hear is his light breaths and the whirr of the cars outside.
he doesn't say anything else. doesn't question her, doesn't make any teasing remark, doesn't reach out. but she can feel him looking, as if trying to make out her silhouette in the dark. it's only until his phone lights up with a call — a name she doesn't recognize — that he moves from his place, his own backpack falling loosely onto his shoulders.
just before he reaches the double doors, he turns to face her. her heart finds itself in her throat, her stomach twisting and churning in all directions.
it's curt. clipped. as if he had more to say.
when the door clicks shut behind him, a heavy rot festers in her chest.
she can't quite figure out why he wanted him out so bad. nor can she figure out why, in the end, she wanted him to stay, just a little longer.
ଳ bless up iya for inspiring one of utahime’s texts 😛😛
ଳ toji was about to dump his shit on yuki's laundry. he's still sensitive from his bisexual breakup
ଳ anyways. this burn is so slow im getting impatient while making it
ଳ patience is a virtue ... ig ...
ଳ nanami "i've never stopped thinking about you since i left. i just don't know how to show it" kento x y/n "i've spent years building up walls around the memory of you, and you have the audacity to come in here and tear them all down? just like that?" l/n
ଳ yn beelined for toji's soju stash she was READY
ଳ a woman on a mission (to get so drunk that she forgets abt nanami all over again)
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